


Poinsettia

by Tyranno



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Plant Metaphors, Slow Burn, canon typical gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-06 23:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: Julia set the torch into the bracket beside the door and drew back the heavy bolt. The moment she opened the door, cold wind buffeted her like a physical blow. Rain hit her like chips of ice.A woman stood on her doorstep, shivering and shivering. She was soaked the bone, clothes sticking together in heavy clumps. Her hair was bright, her skin as pale as the locals. She looked up at Julia, teeth chattered.“M-may I c-come in?” Sypha asked, voice almost lost in the thunder of rain.--A version of how Julia Laforeze (Isaac's sister) might be introduced in the netflix show





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: never played the game, got an idea of Julia's character from the wiki tho haha

_Somewhere in the east, a long time ago_

 

 

The late afternoon sun is low enough to shine straight through the basement’s barred windows. Gold painted the dusty stone, glistened over the rows of chipped flasks and bottles. Noise filtered through the windows, the sharp back and forth of merchants, the high peels of laughter from street children.

Julia dipped the curved razor in a basin of water by her side. Her brother’s head rested in her lap. His eyes were half closed, a glossy, foggy brown. She dragged the razor over the curve of his skull, shaving off a layer of dense black curls.

The air was thick and muggy, heavy with dust. Every breath tasted stale.

Julia had already bandaged almost the whole of her brother’s body. White linen stretched across his broad back, over both feet and the knees and elbows where he had knelt to receive the blows. When she had been treating him, he had been a twitching mess, but he had settled to a state that was almost catatonic.

Blood was already rising through the linen across his back. She had sacrificed all her spare dresses for bandages over the past few weeks, used the last of her healing herbs to make salves for him, been reduced to stealing clean water and alcohol to wash the wounds with. If it happened again, she wouldn’t be able to treat him.

Water lapped over the clay basin’s sides as she washed the razor and set it aside. She poured shaving oil into the well of her palm and rubbed her hands together before massaging it the crown of Isaac’s skull.

The boy moved, expression tightening as his back shifted.

“Shh,” Julia touched his shoulders, “Don’t move.”

Isaac sagged back down, face buried in the folds of her skirt. She petted his head, massaging the oil in. She felt like a mother with a sick child.

“Why?”

Julia washed her hands in the basin of water. She picked up the razor, “Why what?”

“He said—He said he loved me,” Isaac frowned.

Julia’s heart stung, sudden and savage. She regarded him sadly, her eyes lowered.

Isaac made a small noise, his chest stuttering, “Love… it’s not supposed to… When people talk about love it’s... sweeter. How… how is this love, too?”

It felt like an important question. She could hear the desperation in Isaac’s voice, the pain. He needed an answer.

“Julia,” He breathed, “How can it be like this?”

“Because,” She said, voice hardened, “The plant that heals may also poison.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Wallachia, 1475_

 

Julia’s heels clicked across the black cobblestones. She walked with the hem of her dress raised to avoid the broken glass and the crushed stone. Blood and viscera were already drying on the heels of her leather boots, but as a medic, she was used to walking through unpleasant streets. The streets of Gresit had become very unpleasant as of late.

The stairs to the castle were miraculously clear, and she let her hem drop from her hands. There was no need to hurry. She had already had a long journey.

Stepping into Dracula’s castle, she felt the air drop a few degrees. The walls stretched high over her head, the blank sleekness of the stone, the long stretch of immaculate floor. It reminded her of a cathedral. Or, perhaps, given the age of the building, cathedrals reminded her of the castle.

Dracula stood, faced away from her, in front of his throne. His figure was cut out in sharp black.

Julia curtseyed, “My lord.”

“You must be Julia Laforeze,” Dracula intoned.

“I am, my lord.”

“You’re a witch.”

There was something in his cold tone that kindled fear into her heart. Although he wasn’t looking at her, she made an effort not to let it show on her face.

“I am, my lord,” She said, voice wavering slightly.

“Your brother recommended you,” Dracula’s voice returned to its monotone, “I believe the task before me requires more delicacy than his blunt power.”

“I will do my all, my lord,” Julia said, “Where is the patient?”

Dracula seemed to stir. He lifted his head slightly and turned. For the first time, he looked over at Julia. His eyes were pale and empty, like the eyes of an animal carcass.

Julia waited in the silence, head inclined respectfully.

“You will be rewarded for your good service,” Dracula said.

“That does not concern me, my lord,” Julia said, “Whatever fate you decide, I will accept.”

Dracula tilted his head.

“You look a lot like your brother,” Dracula said, strangely quiet.

“I... have not seen him in many years, my lord,” Julia replied.

Dracula watched her, and Julia watched him back, avoiding his eyes. He was a tall creature, even taller than her own towering stature. His deep black hair was combed away to hang in thick sheets around him, curling over his high collar. What struck her most was how ordinary he looked. If not for the long, viper-like fangs, he could have been any of the bodies she had walked past on her way to the castle.

“The patient, my lord?” Julia prompted, when it was clear he would not continue.

Dracula seemed to shrink a little, pale eyes flickering shut. He scowled and pointed behind him, “Upstairs.”

Julia bowed, and set off deeper into the castle. She had a strange urge to run, as if she had narrowly escaped danger.

The gloom only increased as she walked. She walked up the long, steep staircase and on, following her instincts. The castle felt like a lonely, yawning void. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, the corridors seemed to roll on and on, the walls were stark and bare.

When she smelt the sting of blood in the air, she picked up the pace, shifting her medical bag over her shoulder to move it out of the way. Her heels clicked like the claws of a dog across the stone, ringing through the emptiness.

She pushed open the tall double doors that lead into the landing—and stopped short.

It was surreal.

The man lay in the ruins of a marble column, stretched out elegantly, hair spread out like a pale halo behind his head.

His chest had been opened.

Viscera, brilliant red and twitching was on full display. His rib cage had been split clean open, his jaw bisected, bone gleaming through the muscle like chips of marble. It looked like one strike, straight through the middle of him. His skin was marble pale, his curls a brilliant, glinting corn silk yellow. His eyes were moving, bright like gold coins.

He was still alive, Julia realised, a little late. It was shocking how little blood stained the floor, how open his muscles were. The true divide between humans and vampires had never been starker.

Julia bowed her head. She had recognised him immediately.

“Adrian Tepes,” She said, “I am here to heal you.”

The dhampir’s hands twitched. His jaw shivered, like he wanted to speak, but only blood came out, dribbling across his pale skin.

Julia set her supply bag down, “You are in my care. You will survive.”

Adrian shuddered, like he wanted to shrink away but his body was too ruined to move. His shoulders spasmed.

The movements reminded Julia of a dog she had seen, crushed by a stone that had fallen off a cart. Body ruined beyond repair but not yet injured enough to die, it had screamed and screamed, aware enough to feel every violence inflicted upon it. Eventually, a man from the village had put the animal out of its misery.

That was not the kind of mercy she offered, however.

Julia pulled on her gloves. Blue energy, crackling like electricity, sparked over her fingertips.

She pressed two fingers to the centre of the dhampir’s forehead. “Sleep,” She ordered.

Every muscle in the man’s body shuddered and tensed, drawn tight across his bones. Blood leaked from his chest. The tension extended for a long, agonising moment, before he slumped back like a puppet with its strings cut. His eyes rolled back in his head.

Julia waited a moment longer, and pulled her hand away. She cracked open her supply bag and set to work.

 

*

 

Days later, Julia stood deep under Gresit. Dracula’s servants moved around her, carrying the limp body of his son. All that remained of the wound was a deep red scar across his chest, from collar to navel.

She hadn’t slept or eaten while she had been healing and she was starting to feel the effects. A deep-rooted, dizzy emptiness was gnawing at her. As she watched Adrian being lowered into his casket, a strange sadness rose in her. The servants of Dracula scurried away. They didn’t even spare her a glance, avoiding her instinctively—likely Isaac’s doing, she realised with a distant pang.

They were alone.

Deep underground, the chamber felt like a tomb. The air was cold and very still, as if it hadn’t moved in centuries. Julia stood in the silence, allowing the silence to settle around her like a shroud.

She picked up the stone lid of the casket. It was was much to thick for a normal woman of her build to carry, but with her energy crackling around her arms, she lifted it with ease. Dust swirled from where she’d disturbed it. She rested the stone lid on top of the lip of the casket and spared one last glance down at the dhampir.

The hair colour must have been from his mother, Julia mused. She had not met the woman, and she hadn’t been in the castle long enough to find a portrait. Lisa Tepes had managed to seduce and tame the king of evil, at least for a little while. She must have been quite the woman.

Adrian slept deeply, hardly even breathing. From what she knew of Vampires, they usually slept for years after sustaining heavy injury.

Julia slid the lid into place. She hoped the man would sleep through the war. For his sake.

 

*

 

_Above the Kunlin Caves, 1478_

 

The night was dark and ferocious. Storm winds howled and howled outside the stone walls of the tower, battering the windows and slicing through the gaps in the ancient stone walls. It felt like the sea was alive and wrathful, like a gigantic beast clawing and clawing at the stone.

Cold had kept Julia awake. She hadn’t grown used to the weather in the north, and a part of her wished for the warm easy nights of her distant childhood. Here, the weather was an evil, wild thing, raw and angry. She didn’t sleep much, any more.

The noise of the storm almost drowned out the sound of knocking. When it came to her attention, Julia tilted her head, trying to distinguish it from the rattling of the windows. It was a regular, beating sound against the wood. Unmistakable.

Picking up the only lit torch from its bracket on the wall, Julia padded down the rough hewn stone stairs. Her free hand curled around the knife at her belt.

Julia set the torch into the bracket beside the door and drew back the heavy bolt. The moment she opened the door, cold wind buffeted her like a physical blow. Rain hit her like chips of ice.

A woman stood on her doorstep, shivering and shivering. She was soaked the bone, clothes sticking together in heavy clumps. Her hair was bright, her skin as pale as the locals. She looked up at Julia, teeth chattered.

“M-may I c-come in?” The woman asked, voice almost lost in the thunder of rain.

The woman was a speaker, Julia realised, glancing over the blue garb. She regarded her evenly. Julia had any number of demonic artefacts in her tower, not even counting the scout demons she had won over from her brother some time ago which occasionally visited her with news. A speaker would not appreciate that, and may even be able to defeat Julia in combat.

But… she did look very cold. She likely would not survive the night.

Julia bit her lip and stepped back, clearing the doorway for her visitor.

“Th-thank you,” The woman pushed past her, eagerly darting inside, “Thank you so much.”

“You can use the linen on the side to dry off,” Julia gestured, shutting the door and setting the bolt back in place, “There’s a fire going upstairs.”

The woman wasted no time in scooping the linen up and rubbing her hair with it, “Thanks. I’m Sypha Belnades, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Julia Laforeze,” Julia inclined her head, respectfully.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Sypha warms up a little, she starts to talk. 

And Julia listens. 

Sypha is indeed a speaker, although she doesn’t mention her troupe at all. She had been travelling instead with a friend, who had doubled back to fetch a third friend for some reason. Left alone on the road, she had fared well until she had been attacked by a pack of demons. 

Julia interrupts her then, “Attacked?”

“Yes,” Sypha said, “I healed myself enough to walk and continued on. I got stuck in this storm before I could find shelter.” 

Julia nodded. She search Sypha’s body with her eyes, until she noticed she was absently cradling her left side. She stood up, “I’ll fetch you some more clothing—you’ll warm up faster if you change. I’ll heal you and you can spend the night here.” 

“Thank you,” Sypha beamed up at her. The woman’s eyes seemed to glow in the firelight, inhumanely blue. 

Julia nodded again, stiffly. 

She returned with her spare winter dress, white and heavy. She passed it to Sypha, “There’s a modesty screen in the corner you can change behind. Then we can treat your wounds properly.” 

“You’re very kind,” Sypha said, taking the heavy white dress. She ran a hand through the ruffles. 

“Hospitality is very important to Speaker culture,” Julia said, “I am only returning the favour.” 

“You’ve travelled with speakers?” Sypha asked, glancing up at her. 

Julia glanced away, “Once.” 

Sypha didn’t pry. She folded the dress under her arm and disappeared behind the modesty curtain. 

Julia sighed deeply, sitting back down. She tucked her feet under the chair and stared into the fire. She had lit the rest of the torches, so the room was brighter than it usually was, but it was still gloomy and dark. The storm still battered them, but the lightning had been quelled. No more thunderclaps rocked the earth, only the incessant roll of the rain against the stone. 

Sypha stepped out from behind the curtain. She hung up her speaker clothes in front of the fire, smoothing out the wet wrinkles. The dress flowed around her bare ankles. 

“Ah,” Sypha turned to face Julia, holding the front of the dress pressed against her chest, “I don’t think I have enough... bust, for this dress.” 

“It just needs re-lacing,” Julia smiled, “I can do it for you, if you want.” 

“Thank you,” Sypha said, “Can you dress my wounds first? I couldn’t really get to all of them.” 

“Of course,” Julia beckoned her closer. 

Sypha sat on the stool, and Julia settled behind her. She beckoned for Sypha to show her. 

Delicately, Sypha loosened the laces at the back of the dress and pulled the back open. She shrugged the dress off one shoulder. A storm cloud of bruise covered her left side, the skin broken in thin slashes over her ribs. They looked like thin claw marks. 

Julia pulled on her gloves. Blue magic crackled between her fingers and she reached for her. 

Sypha snatched Julia’s hand. 

Julia glanced up at Sypha, accidentally catching at eye-full of Sypha’s bare chest. She averted her eyes, embarrassed. Sypha didn’t seem to notice her nakedness, instead starting intently at Julia’s hands. 

“That—that was magic,” Sypha breathed. 

Julia regarded her, slightly flushed. She nodded. 

“You can do magic!” Sypha beamed at her, “It’s so rare—I don’t think I’ve met another person who can.” 

“It’s not all that rare,” Julia said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Sypha’s face, “It’s only rare in the Northern countries, due to the church’s witch hunt. If you come from where I do, it’s not all that uncommon. One or two in a family.” 

“Really?” Sypha grinned, “I mean—I’ve heard of that, but I’ve never been that far East. I didn’t know how accurate it was.” 

“How much power a witch has varies, but yes it’s not nearly as rare as it is here,” Julia said, “May I heal you?” 

Sypha laughed nervously and released her hand. She seemed to notice her bare chest and gathered up the dress, holding it to her chest. 

Julia pressed her fingertips to Sypha’s skin. The speaker’s skin had raised in goosebumps, the hair standing on end in the cold. Electricity jumped between Julia’s fingertips and Sypha’s side. The wounds shifted under her touch, the bruises mellowing and healing, the skin shifting together. 

“The demon attacks destroyed most of the church’s infrastructure,” Julia said, “I doubt they’ll have enough cohesion to be oppressing anyone anytime soon. Witches will return.” 

“Hmm,” Sypha leaned absently into Julia’s warm touch, “That’s one benefit of Dracula’s death, I suppose.” 

Julia flinched back, straightening up suddenly, “Dracula’s dead?” 

Sypha looked over her shoulder at the other woman. Her eyes were impossibly blue, like chips of winter sky, “Yes, he is.” 

Julia said nothing for a long moment, staring into the middle distance. Eventually, she pressed her fingers back onto Sypha’s side, but the distant look didn’t fade. She chewed the inside of her cheek, lost in thought. 

Julia hadn’t even noticed that she’d finished healing until Sypha shifted away, gathering up the front of her dress. She straightened up, “Please, allow me.” 

“Alright,” Sypha said, allowing Julia to take the complicated folds of the white linen. 

Julia undid the last few knots of ribbon and rethreaded the loops. With a few changes to the lacing, the front of the dress rested a lot closer to Sypha’s chest, the ruffles tickling the hollow of her throat. Julia made quick work of the rest of the back of the dress, tying up the rest in elegant, looping bows. 

“How did you know Dracula was dead?” Julia asked. 

“You don’t leave your tower much, Princess,” Sypha said, “It’s common knowledge.” 

Julia inclined her head at that point. She hardly left the tower at all. “Were you there?” 

Sypha opened her mouth, startled. She glanced back at Julia and frowned, “That’s a strange question.” 

“And that’s not an answer.” 

Sypha’s lips thinned, “Yes… I was.” 

Julia nodded. She scrubbed at her face, massaging her temples. “How… How did it happen?” 

“His son did it,” Sypha said, “He had to.” 

Julia’s eyes fluttered open and caught her gaze. Sypha watched her with her startling eyes. Julia felt pinned down by the gaze. “There are new demons,” Julia observed, quietly. 

“Yes,” Sypha said, “One of Dracula’s forge-masters is still active. He’s trying to continue the vampire’s mission.” 

Julia’s heart sunk. She rested her head in her hands, “I see.” 

Sypha pushed herself to her feet. The dress swirled around her, folds upon folds. She tugged at it, watching the fabric flow and shift. “You sure like ruffles, Miss Laforeze.” 

“I don’t, actually,” Julia said, “That’s why I never wear that dress.” 

Sypha let the fabric drop, “You should. I think a dress like this would suit you.” 

Julia smiled faintly, “It’s late. We should sleep. There’s a bed in the other room you can use.” 

“Thank you,” Sypha said, “In the morning I’d like to talk more with you.” 

Julia nodded, “I look forward to it.”


End file.
